


The Fidelity of Flowers

by RingtailNightmare



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angry Asra, Biting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dramatic Julian, F/M, Floriography, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, Language of Flowers, Neck Kissing, Portia being helpful and adorable, Scratching, Serendipitous books, Spoilers, The Chariot Book, dusty library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingtailNightmare/pseuds/RingtailNightmare
Summary: This fic takes place near the end of Julian's Chariot book.Abandoned and alone, the apprentice finds herself in a deep well of depression. She tries to sleep it off, only to discover a gift on her doorstep the next morning. Is there more than meets the eye to what was left for her?





	1. Heartbreak

Numb. Her entire world was numb. Fingertips absently scrubbed at the rough wood of the shop door, slumping against it slightly for support. Her mind was three steps behind with her current situation, but she figured that letting it catch up would only call in the tidal wave of emotions ebbing at her mental floodgates. It took her a few moments to notice Asra before her, concern darkening his features.

“Hey, I know that look. What happened? What’s wrong?” he soothed, his hand resting on her upper arm with a slight jostle. Her eyes came into focus, looking into his for some kind of direction.

“Julian left me,” she whispered, feeling winded, like someone had punched her in the gut. Hard.

Asra’s expression faltered, shifting between shock, anger, disgust, and hurt in a matter of moments. “He did? You two were…?” He shook his head, his hand grasping at her arm tighter—a comforting pressure. “Want to come upstairs and talk about it? I made that tea you like. You look like you could use it.”

The apprentice nodded, swallowing past a lump in her throat. Asra’s eyes grew concerned once more as he cupped her cheek, scrubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. She felt the change in temperature there and wiped her other eye, just noticing her own tears. Leveling a glare at the moisture on her fingertips, she tailed behind Asra, moving up the stairs and lowering herself onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Asra offered her a mug, which she took with cold hands, the spiced aroma breathing the smallest bit of life back into her core. It wouldn’t last, though, with the question Asra speared her with. “So, what happened?”

She chewed her lip before everything came out in a rush. She told him about their encounter on the streets the night before, their flight from the guards, waking up beside him, crashing a community theatre performance. It spilled out like emotional vomit that her body needed out immediately. “It was unnatural…an almost magnetic attraction. Everything was sparks and friction. I…I couldn’t stay away. He was everything I needed in that moment, everything I wanted to believe him to be. But he said he would only end up hurting me. Decided for me that it would be best if whatever we were becoming…didn’t become anything.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering.

“He took an entire day to end it? …Were you two even together?” He asked, stroking Faust where she rested, curled around his wrist.

“I…don’t know,” she admitted, her brows furrowing. Asra’s jaw clenched for a brief moment before he went off on a rant about how Julian only wished to chase drama and his own suffering, how he always sabotages happiness, and something about an ouroboros of self-flagellation. But she only mumbled out clipped responses, doing her best to defend Julian against her master’s verbal assault, despite some dark part of her inner monologue telling her to agree with him.  
After returning the deck in her bag to its true owner, she flopped into her bed to sleep off her emotional hangover. Who knew someone could experience so many emotions in a single day? Excitement, fear, attraction, anxiety, desire, heartbrokenness…she couldn’t reign in the cacophony of feelings swirling in her chest, her heart fluttering like a bird bashing its wings against a bone cage. Fingers dug into the pillow beneath her head as she rolled to her side. Would he be safe? Where else could he go? Would Mazelinka help him again? Could she find him there?

Should she try to find him there?

She shook her head and buried her face into the pillow to hide her tears from the shadows of the night. She couldn’t bear the thought of him getting caught by anyone else but her. She could keep him safe. She closed her eyes and replayed the words he spoke to her on the dock, the fevered kisses he’d caught her with, always followed by a pleading “one more.” Fire rose in her chest, searing her from the inside out. But it wasn’t the searing heat that she experienced in the moments of stolen kisses and flirting touches. It was the searing heat that would have brought her to her knees if she weren’t already in bed. It brought pain, a dull and throbbing ache that she couldn’t soothe. She sighed deeply, gripping the pillow beneath her again, imagining the feeling of his auburn locks between her fingers as she remembered him. Wherever he had run to now, she only prayed that he was safe.

***

Squawks of tropical birds on the windowsill roused her from her sleep. She couldn’t remember when she had fallen into slumber. She did, however, wish that she could return to her dreams, where she had been surrounded by the familiar scent of leather and musk again, warm and content. She could’ve sworn that she could smell him and feel his warmth in her sleep, like the evening before. But of course, she woke up alone in her bed, surrounded by the familiar smell of potions ingredients instead. Even her dreams taunted her fragile emotional state. A hollow sigh rattled from her slumped form, her hands scrubbing over her tired face. If she could get some food in her stomach, she could think of some kind of plan. Did he leave the city? Maybe Mazelinka would know.

Dragging her heavy body to the kitchen to find food, she sniffed out a half-eaten loaf of bread on the table. Just before she placed a bite into her mouth, she heard a clatter and a soft thud downstairs. With her plundered breakfast in hand, she cautiously made her way down the stairs, glancing into the shop. At the front door, she saw Asra looking down disdainfully at a bundle of flowers wrapped in a scrap of parchment on the shop counter.

“Flowers?” she mumbled, the husky sound of sleep still in her voice. Asra sighed heavily, plucking a wolfsbane bloom from the bundle and rubbing the petals between his fingers roughly.

“Can’t ever manage the decency of a clean break, can you, Ilya?” he growled under his breath. “These were on the doorstep this morning. They’re for you.”

The apprentice made her way over to the counter and picked up the bouquet, holding them to her nose to deeply inhale their fragrance. She then remembered their detour into the abandoned flower garden, the luminescent flower he’d offered her, and his warning.

“Poison in these petals,” she muttered the words under her breath, reciting them from Julian’s teasing in the garden.

“Yeah, you’re right. Only the wolfsbane, though. Orange roses, maiden’s blush, scorpion grass, amethyst, eglantine, and it looks like some althea frutex, too,” Asra assessed. His eyes narrowed as he crushed the wolfsbane he’d stolen in his palm. “Ironic. His favorite. It’s the only one that’s toxic in this bouquet. Highly toxic. At least he got one thing right in his attempt at romantically letting you down easy. He’s toxic, alright. But the rest is…ugh, just more and more drama with him.” With a shake of his head, he dropped the wolfsbane to be trampled underfoot as he moved to the door, pulling his scarf up and placing his plumed hat on his head. “I’ll be back sooner or later. Try to forget about him. You’ll feel better if you do.” A shadow passed over his eyes with his advice, flexing the hand where the flower had been before he exited the shop.

The apprentice looked back into the soft and beautiful bouquet again once the door latched behind her master. Julian left these, then. But what was Asra talking about? Drama? How were flowers dramatic? If anything, they were sweet, even if she was upset to see evidence of his sneaky, momentary return without her knowledge. She placed the bouquet on the counter behind her, planning to come back to it after she reported to the Palace.  
When she locked and latched the door of the shop behind her, she made her way to the palace, determined to find some hint of how to track Julian. Her stakes were higher now more than ever. On her walk to the palace, she caught herself glancing to the skies more than once, looking for the raven that always seemed to tail the doctor. If there was one thing Julian could do well, it was disappear into a crowd. She never understood how, considering his stature and flaming red hair. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she passed through the streets easily and soon was looking up at the palace walls. The guards at the castle gates seemed to jump at the sight of her, briskly moving aside to allow her entrance. She couldn’t resist the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. The Countess’s punishment was not one they would forget quickly, she surmised. She took no time at all in hunting down Portia, who was attending to her morning duties as always.

“Oh! You’re here early! Did you need something?” she approached the apprentice with a wide smile.

“Could you get me back into the library, Portia? I think I might be onto something.” She wasn’t. Not really. But she had a hunch that she would be as soon as she could start searching Julian’s desk again. In just a day, she felt like she knew him so much more than she did before, which gave her more to work with when shuffling through the doctor’s past studies. Portia’s eyes glittered, excitement splitting her features.

“Yes, of course!” she shouted, then clamped her hand over her mouth, eyes darting around nervously. Keeping her tone at a lower volume, she looked back to the apprentice and grinned, offering a quick wink. “Follow me.”

Doing just that, the apprentice found herself once again in the dusty library. Her eyes wandered the shelves aimlessly as she made her way to Julian’s old desk. She picked up the folio from before, scanning the illegible pages for any kind of sign. To her growing distress, any hints she could have possibly gleaned from the pages were obscured by his sloppy penmanship. Perhaps he kept a journal of his findings somewhere? Something with diagrams or charts that she could understand?

Putting the folio back in its place, she lifted a stack of books from the floor, carefully pulling them from the gap between the wall and the desk. The binding of a faded ivory-covered tome caught her eye amongst the dark leather of the other books. She pulled it from the stack out of curiosity, smoothing her fingers over the gold leaf title.

“Floriography?” the apprentice grumbled, turning the book in her hands. Portia scampered over, pulling the tome from her hands.

“Ah! The language of flowers! Who knew such a fluffy and romantic kind of book was in here?” she giggled as she opened the cover, flicking through the pages.

“Language of…flowers?” the apprentice parroted, looking over Portia’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you know…you give a lily to someone if you want to tell them they’re beautiful and sweet. Red roses are for love. Scorpion grass’s meaning is so well-known, it’s often called by it: forget-me-nots. Maybe it is in here because they thought their meanings might tie into potential potions and cure use,” she rambled, pausing on a page of B-named flowers, where an inked star sat beside belladonna. As Portia scrubbed her thumb over the star with a thoughtful hum, the apprentice felt shock roll through her. Scorpion grass. Scorpion grass was in her bouquet this morning.

So that’s what Asra meant by dramatic.

“H-hey, do you think I could borrow that book?” the apprentice asked sheepishly before she could stop herself. Portia glanced up from the tome, eyes shifting uncomfortably. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I figure something out. It…it might help my investigations.”

Portia closed the tome with a snap and drummed her fingers on the cover in thought for a few moments. Placing it back down on the desk, she turned her back and started walking toward the entrance. “Everything looks perfectly in place in here, just as I thought,” she spoke as if she were speaking to herself, “guess I’ll go back out to the hall. Come out when you’re ready, okay?” With that, the false doors shut behind her. The apprentice grinned, mentally thanking Portia from the bottom of her heart. The ivory tome fit perfectly into her bag, allowing her to conceal it from those that didn’t know of her thievery. She exited the hidden library, telling Portia that she needed to do some thinking back at home. Although her expression was puzzled and concerned, she nodded and escorted the apprentice back to the gates.

The apprentice made her way through the streets, a woman on a mission. Her feet felt lighter, her mind clearer. Surely he left her something of significance hidden in those blossoms.

Back in the safety of her home, she found the bouquet where she’d left it. She carried it up to her kitchen table, placing the tome in front of her and the bouquet above it. She plucked a downy-soft orange rose from the bouquet, smoothing the drying edge between her fingers as she flipped the pages. In the R’s, there were several definitions for roses, broken into colors. Dragging a fingertip down the page, she stopped at orange.

“Passion and enthusiasm,” she murmured. Heat prickled at her ears as she remembered clearly the desperate movement of his mouth on hers at the docks. Yes, she knew of his passion and enthusiasm, and she certainly shared the same feelings. Her heart painfully squeezed in her chest again when the warm glow of her memory faded out. She gently placed the rose down, reaching in for a different flower.

This time, a five-petal blossom came out. It was a deep shade of purple with a white center. Amethyst, the apprentice determined. She flipped back to the start of the tome, finding amethyst on the first page.

“Admiration.” The word tumbled from her lips incredulously. She tried to think of what was admirable about her actions or her character, but came up short. She agreed to bring him in to the hangman’s noose, after all. It was the job awarded to her by the Countess, and surely he could find that much out. “Julian, what are you…?” she grumbled, hoping that something would act as an invitation. Something would mean “meet me at the usual place” or something. Of course, she was grasping desperately at something that wasn’t there. He was the one who left her. Why would he ask for her back?

She pulled out another stem, this one a long fluffy frond dotted with small blue flowers. Scorpion grass. She didn’t even need to find this one in the tome. Forget-me-not. “Why am I not allowed to forget, Julian? Do you enjoy my pain as much as you enjoy your–.” She stopped herself before she could choke on a tiny bubble of a sob. “And besides, how could I possibly forget you?” the apprentice grumbled, frustration and hurt gurgling into her voice, the frustration bringing tears to her eyes.

Another plunge into the bouquet found another five-petal flower, but this one was larger and far more delicate than the amethyst. The petals were pink, crimson draining out from the center, where a long yellow stamen stood, like a weapon plunged into the center of the flower to start the red bleed. Althaea frutex. A specific hibiscus. The apprentice scanned the A’s again, finding it above the amethyst. Her throat burned, the unshed tears lingering from her frustration streaming down her cheeks and landing on the tome, spotting it darker in a couple places.

“Consumed by love. That isn’t fair,” she whimpered. “It was two days, at most, so why…” Her hand scrubbed at her eyes again. “Why do I feel the same way? It feels like…feels like I’ve known you forever, too, Ilya.” Her heart throbbed painfully at the name on her lips, the name that she never called him. He asked her to call him Julian, but everyone else knew him as someone else. Was this more of his defending her? Surely this flower showed her that she wasn’t just some tryst to him. She was pulled to him so strongly, it was almost as if she was suffering some curse. She couldn’t get away from him, her thoughts of him, his lingering smell on her clothes. She couldn’t escape any of it. But part of her didn’t want to escape.

Reaching again for another flower that she hadn’t felt yet, she pulled a fragile satin-petaled, rosy-colored flower. A circle of yellow stamens burst forth from the white center. Eglantine. She felt a wave of calm pass over her when the fragrance reached her, a scent like a crisp apple, yet herbal like one of her favorite teas. She held it close to her face, elbow perched on the table, while she flipped through the pages to find it. A lump formed in her throat, her finger following the meaning as her lip trembled again. Gods, she needed to either let herself cry or swallow it down. This start-and-stop emotional tide pool was too much. She inhaled deeply from the flower again, her jaw setting as she shoved down her tears. “I wound to heal,” she mumbled into the petals. “So you claim, Julian. Not that I ever had the chance to stop you.” She hissed out, unable to distinguish the line between her sorrow and anger anymore.

Pulling the last flower that she hadn’t yet analyzed, one that felt larger than the others, she looked down at its blushing pink petals, bunched in a crowded explosion of elegant folds. Another rose. A different rose. Maiden’s blush. She searched the rose section again, finding it just above orange.

“If you love me, you will find it out,” she gasped. Surely he didn’t mean that timidly, like the book described. He had no faith in himself or in his redemption, but this…he had faith in her. Even if he couldn’t forgive himself, she would find a way to forgive his sins for him. Either that, or she’d find a way for them to escape safely. She rubbed the velvet petals between her fingers, fighting the catch in her breath from the tears that wanted to escape again. This wasn’t an answer or a map. This was what he was feeling. He had said it himself: he’s selfish. He had to show her that he wasn’t intending to keep what he truly wanted, and that he’d decided it for her, on his own. That he wanted her, desperately, but at the time he loathed himself more than he loved her. Or he loathed himself just enough to stay away. But the last flower, the maiden’s blush. Was it an invitation to find him? To seek the truth and vindicate him? Surely not. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to try it anyway. She pulled a wolfsbane from the bouquet, now smaller with so many missing pieces, and twirled it by its stem.

She smiled down at the purple petals looking back at her, the sharp smell not horribly off-putting, even if it wasn’t necessarily pleasant. Asra had mentioned this being Julian’s favorite flower. Like a signature at the end of his mystery-flower love letter. Out of curiosity, she turned to the back of the tome, to the W’s, where wolfsbane was listed. Beneath it read one word: misanthropy. She scoffed, though lovingly, at its meaning. Nothing suited him better, it seemed. Contempt and distrust of the human race only made sense when you were accused and marked for a crime you couldn’t remember committing. But his inclusion of the flower in this bouquet…was it just a signature? Or was there something more? She remembered the words he’d spoken to her, calling her a light he always wanted to chase, saying she put him at ease. She could see the meaning now.

 _Despite_ his distrust of the human race, he loved her with passion and enthusiasm. He was consumed by love, by admiration. He feared her forgetting about him, and _despite_ his contempt for the rest of the world, he believed in her. He believed in her ability to fight for him, with him. Even when he couldn’t extend the same courtesy for himself, he put so much faith in her.

His love letter was clear. And she was determined to deliver a reply.


	2. Rekindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian is a dramatic mess. Why can't he bring himself to leave? He really should get out of Vesuvia, before something traps him there.

Chatter from the morning crowd rattled around him. This is where he felt safe, blending into a crowd, his senses filled by the bitter, smoky aroma of the coffee in his hand. He wished he could see it how he had seen it a couple days ago. With her on his arm, the streets seemed warmer, more inviting, and the colors drifting about from the street vendors’ wares—from fruit to textiles—seemed brighter. It was like she pulled an aura of life around with her, and he would do anything to stake his claim in that aura forever. But he didn’t deserve luxuries like that. He didn’t deserve to live in the light when he was nothing but dark. 

The familiar pit in his stomach formed again, and he took a distracted sip of the pitch-dark liquid in his cup to soothe it. He could see her sleeping face again, her eyes still puffy from the tears that she had wasted on him. Everything in his being wanted to wake her and apologize that night. He wanted to tell her that he took it back. He wanted to hold her again, bathe in her soothing scent and run his fingers through her hair. He wanted just one more taste of her sweet lips, one more high from the sounds she breathed into his mouth. He wanted so much. But nothing good ever came from fickleness, even though he had practically perfected it into an art. He’d settled on brushing her flushed cheek with a gloved finger, unable to fully resist his desire to touch her, but he’d quickly escaped out the window when she made a deep sound in her throat at his touch. He didn’t want to wake her, or else he would surely injure her further. Instead, he settled for his original plan, the plan he had devised before he had been distracted with his concerns for her. Before he had used the key—against his word—to break in one last time to steal up the stairs and see her again. He placed the bouquet gently on the doorstep, concealed in the darkness of the night. He looked through them again, assuring that he had said all that he wanted with them. Was she even familiar with floriography? What if she didn’t know he’d left them? What if she didn’t understand his message? Surely Asra would recognize it, but would he be willing to help her decipher it, after what he’d done? He clawed at his chest, fist balling in the supple leather of his coat. If she didn’t understand his intentions with the flowers, it shouldn’t matter to him. If he did everything right, she wouldn’t see him again anyway. So why was he lingering in Vesuvia anyway? 

He looked down into his mug, his rippling reflection frowning back at him. He knew why. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t care about the risks he faced by staying, for he was too caught up in his own heartbreak to truly plan travel to any other destination anyway. But he didn’t deserve to wallow, either. He’d done this to himself. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t fear the danger in a future with him. Even so, he left. He had no right to be upset.

With a heavy sigh, he downed the rest of the coffee and placed two coins on the counter as payment, shuffling back into the street. He had no destination in mind. He just knew that he couldn’t go anywhere near the side of town that held the little magic shop. So absorbed in his own depression, he didn’t hear the desperate rattles of the raven overhead. It took the bird swooping down and pulling on his auburn tresses in passing to feel the prickle of danger on his skin and hear the protests of the guards trying to push through the crowd. His mind went blank as his legs carried him swiftly down a back alley.

_You damned fool. Walking down a busy street in broad daylight. What were you thinking?_ He mentally scolded himself as he ran, his heart hammering in his ears as he wound down the back streets. Shouts of the guards bounced off the narrow walls, tailing him despite being out of sight. He couldn’t stop now, but he had no idea where he was going. He looked around the walls of the alley, spotting nothing that would help him decipher his location. As long as he continued in the opposite direction of the guards, he should be fine. But he couldn’t run forever. 

Poking his head out into the sunlit street for just a moment, he assessed his location. His legs operated on instinct when he got his bearings, carrying him to his only reliable hideaway. Launching himself through the open window, he hissed as he knocked a yellow bloom from the stalk of one of the plants there. Mazelinka could chide him later. He pressed himself under the windowsill, the cool earth of the wall seeping into his back as he panted for breath. He thought he didn’t care about risking himself. He thought he had just told himself that at the shop. Yet here he was, gasping desperately for air after running for his life. He couldn’t make up his mind. Fickleness was certainly his talent.

Once he’d caught his breath and was certain that the guards had lost track of him, he stood up and staggered into the room partitioned off by the curtain. He stripped off his coat, gloves, and boots, flopping onto the bed unceremoniously, only to reel and sit up when his face met with a cold, velvety bundle on the pillow of the bed, spluttering when he noticed a fallen petal on his tongue.

“What?” he grumbled, holding up the tiny excuse of a bouquet. Four stems were bound at the bottom with twine, with a gentle vine of blossoms coiled around them. Did Mazelinka get these?

Leaning against the wall, he rubbed the petals of the white rose in the center between his bare fingers. “I am worthy of you,” he mumbled under his breath, a spiteful laugh escaping him. He could’ve never included this one in his bouquet to the apprentice that had captured his heart. He wasn’t worthy of her. Not in the slightest. She deserved better. Eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, he hummed when he saw the pink tulip, paired nicely against the remaining pink blooms in the arrangement. “A declaration of love. Such a romantic gesture for someone courting a woman of Mazelinka’s age. Young at heart, perhaps?” he chortled, smelling the bouquet. He put his head down on the pillow and identified the other flowers absentmindedly. The vine around the four stems was pink convolvulus, symbolizing worth sustained by judicious and tender affection, one that he easily remembered. One of the stems separated into two heads exploding into what seemed like hundreds of petals, one tinted a darker pink than the other. A double aster. Whoever sent this shared the sentiments of whoever it was replying to. Did Mazelinka send flowers to an admirer? What a giddy little girly thing to do, he thought to himself with a snicker. He pulled his fingertip down the peachy-pink bundle of petals on the last stem, savoring the velvet feeling with a mock-incredulous gasp. “A buttercup! Is this person calling Mazelinka childish or themselves?” He smirked down at the bouquet, toying with the petals as he laughed.

“What!?”

A muffled voice came from the sleeping hole, silenced by the shut door. The bouquet tumbled from Julian’s hand as he sprang up from the bed, every muscle coiled tight like a cat ready to pounce.

“Mazelinka?” he asked after the voice, though he already knew the voice didn’t belong to the house owner. Picking up the knife that was usually concealed in his boot, he inched closer to the door. He held his position a safe distance from the door and froze, knife poised at the ready. “Huh, I must’ve been hearing things,” he grumbled at a deliberately louder volume than necessary to talk to himself. After a moment, he heard a sigh, like a held breath finally being released. Eyebrows furrowed, he closed the distance to the door in half a stride and yanked the door open, knife readied in his other hand and steely eye glinting with danger. Who he saw in the hole, however, made the knife fall with a clatter as he staggered backwards a step. 

“Ranunculus. It was supposed to be a ranunculus. The book said it meant ‘I am dazzled by your charms,’” the apprentice deadpanned, sounding deflated. “It wasn’t a buttercup.”

“It _is_ a buttercup. But buttercups are a kind of ranunculus flower,” Julian corrected, his face drained of all color. “Why…what…why are you here?” His voice sounded hurt. Scared. The apprentice opened her mouth, then closed it again, looking sheepish. 

“I was looking for you. I knew if you were still in town, you would probably come to Mazelinka’s house to hide again, so I--” 

“You broke in,” he filled in for her. She smirked, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before her smile pulled it free.

“I learned from the best,” she hummed, glancing up at him and twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger. He swallowed hard past a lump that quickly formed in his throat. Gods, why did she have to look at him like that? Those eyes burned into him, setting fire to any resolve he might’ve possessed. He laughed and offered her a hand to get out of the hole. She took it, her grip strong, holding him like a lifeline. Like she was prepared for him to bolt at any time.

“But why are you here? As in, right now? You could’ve easily left the flowers behind. How long were you going to sit in the hole and wait for me? What if I never came?” he scolded her, gripping her shoulders. A flush of embarrassment rose to her face as she looked away, a small pout forming on her mouth. He looked down at it, tongue prodding the inside of his lips, threatening to escape and wet his own at the sight. 

“Well, I just…I just got here. It took me longer than—Look, the book is short enough, but I need more than a couple of hours to memorize them. I needed to find what I wanted to say to you, but I didn’t have the time or the patience. Then I had to find the flowers. Plus, I didn’t want to try to find anything that I didn’t recognize. I’m sure the florists would know what I wanted when I asked, but some of them were so specific, and I didn’t want to say anything wrong—well, look how that turned out, ugh. I just wanted--” Julian’s lips crushed hers, a satisfied sigh escaping him. As she had been speaking, he had slowly moved his hands up her shoulders, her throat, and eventually rested on her cheeks. She let out a soft moan as he parted her lips with his tongue, her hands finding his shoulders for support. His name tumbled from her lips, tearing a groan from his mouth as he responded with hers. Her tongue stroked his as she sighed, making his skin hum with excited energy. He kissed back with as much ferocity as she offered, stabilizing her by her waist as her knees started to buckle. His lungs burned, but he didn't care. He had been dying to taste her sweetness again ever since the last kiss he had left on them at the docks. She wove her fingers into the short hairs at the back of his neck, tugging slightly to pull him away. He purred, leaning in with a peck and gentle tug at her bottom lip before he looked down at her with a smile. Once she caught her breath, she looked up to him, her eyes a swirl of frustration and desire. He wondered which one she would chase. He knew which one he _hoped_ she’d chase. 

The hand on his chest grew more insistent as it forced him backward, farther and farther until the backs of his knees hit the bed, buckling and planting him on the worn mattress. 

“Those flowers were from you, then,” he muttered, arching a brow to tease her. He knew. He knew as soon as he’d found her. Of course her payback would be a favor of the same kind. She was resourceful and clever, after all, and he loved that. 

“Yes,” she breathed, straddling his lap and weaving her fingers into his hair again. The intensity of her gaze made his ears burn. “I meant all of it, and more. For one thing, there wasn’t a flower that meant ‘I am very mad at you,’ or one that meant ‘how could you do this to me, you were everything I wanted.’”

_There_ was the frustration, he noted. His pulse jumped at the ferocity with which she stared him down. “Well, you could’ve given me basil to tell me that you hate me. After all, it’s what I deserve,” he quipped with a self-deprecating laugh, but the laughter was cut short when she tugged his hair sharply, angling his head up towards the ceiling. The action made his breath hitch in his throat, but it quickly melted out of him in a small moan as she nibbled on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, biting and tugging. “I don’t hate you, and you certainly don’t deserve it. Weren’t you paying attention? I am worthy of you, and moreover, you are worthy of me,” she mumbled against his neck, reciting one of her flowers' meanings as she scraped her incisor down the spot she had already turned a purple-red, making him shiver beneath her. “I share all of the sentiments you had for me in your bouquet,” a sucking and biting kiss higher up, on the strap of muscle that connected to his collarbone, making him squirm and clench a fist in the sheets below him. “I am dazzled by your charms, and everything else that comes with it,” she pulled the tortured love bite until the skin broke, prodding the wound with the tip of her tongue. He whimpered, his back arching, pressing his body against hers before he could stop himself. He felt his blush spread from his ears, down his face and neck, settling at his chest. Everything felt hot. A soft kiss fell against his jawline, accenting the tenderness behind her next explanation. “I am willing to take all the time in the world to show you what you are worth, with all the affection I can offer.” He hummed in approval of both her words and ministrations, moving his head just enough to plant a kiss between her eyes. She snorted out a laugh, nails raking down his chest while she affectionately kissed the hollow at the curve of his lower jaw, beneath his ear. “And I love you. I do. I couldn’t hardly breathe or get out of bed when you left me. I was so scared that something would happen to you,” she admitted, allowing her position to hide her blushing face.

“I know what you mean, dear, but how can you say you love me? You—ah!—you don’t hardly…k-know me,” he defended feebly, faltering only for a moment when her tender kiss turned into another bite beneath his jaw. The answer did not satisfy her, he assumed. She insistently dug her nails into his chest again, latching onto the side of his neck with a full-on bite. He gasped and stuttered out a strangled groan, all of the stimulation becoming too much very quickly. He was now leaning fully on his elbows, the apprentice looming over him predatorily.

“Wasn’t it you that said you loved me first? The…althea frutex, was it?” Her voice was a growl against his skin. He anchored his hand in her hair.

“Mm, well, how can’t I be? You’re a bit of a whirlwind. I can’t help being swept away,” he hummed, eyes closed in pleasure. She separated herself from his throat, looking down at him. There was sadness in her eyes, he noted as he opened his own again. “…What is it?” 

She smoothed his hair out of his face, searching for something in his gaze. “Why are you allowed to love me, but it’s out of the question for me to love you, Julian?” She settled her body on top of his, brows angled down in what looked like something between a pout and confusion. He exhaled slowly, angling his eye away from her scrutinizing gaze. Her warmth and her smell were intoxicating, and he didn’t realize that being apart for only a day would put him in such strong withdrawals. He tried his best to focus his thoughts, focus past her allure to give her an answer of some sort.

“W-well, that’s…it’s because—you see, I…” he stumbled and stammered, unable to think of a proper answer with the overload in his senses, his eyes watching the angry quirk of her lips. Her expression shifted to frustration, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly caught her words with a finger. “You don’t have a criminal record, my dear. Surely you’re a better person than me, even if I can’t remember committing my crime. I’m not all light and life and smiles like you. I’m not good.”

“I don’t care what you think you are. I can _see_ what you are, and it doesn’t scare me away,” she mumbled. He laughed breathily, his arm resting around her shoulders to pull her closer. 

“Frankly, that’s the most terrifying part in all of this.” His lips caught hers again, but this time she had anticipated him. Her hands pushed at the cloth on his shoulders, moving it down far enough for her to run her nails down his arms, making him shudder again and crush her against him. His hands gripped her hips, rubbing circles in the sharp bones as he met her desperate kisses with his own. He was absolutely addicted. How did she capture him so quickly? He couldn’t help the sound of satisfaction that escaped into her mouth with the thought, mixing with her own sighs and moans. He parted for just a moment to breathe, meeting her smoldering eyes again. 

“I really tried, you know. I tried to protect you. You wandered into the lion’s den. Did you expect to leave in one piece?” he whispered against her lips. She smirked, kissing the end of his nose, trailing kisses over his cheek and onto his eyepatch. He held his breath as she moved across the protective scrap of leather. No one had ever done something so intimate with his injury. He was jarred from the spell she had placed on him when she leaned into the crook of his neck to purr in his ear.

“Maybe. Who knows? Perhaps the lion wishes to be tamed. Perhaps I wish to be the tamer,” she hummed, biting the top of his ear and prodding it with the tip of her tongue. A strangled sound he could hardly suppress rumbled from his chest.

“Oh gods, yes. The lion would thoroughly enjoy anything his lady tamer wished to attempt in that respect,” he pleaded. Her forehead pressed to his as she chuckled softly at his response. His slate grey eye searched hers for a reason why she pulled away.

“I’m glad I found you again,” she admitted, looking at him through her lashes, embarrassment flushing her features. Did she surprise herself with what she offered him? Was she surprised with his answer? He wished she would act on it, but it seemed like a promise to him. Or perhaps a threat. If he wanted her to make good on the offer, he’d have to stick around a little longer. He smiled and embraced her strongly around the shoulders, face nuzzling into her throat. 

“I just hope you won’t regret it later, darling,” he sighed, “No matter how much I find your stubbornness endearing, I worry that this won’t end well.” He breathed her in, his arms crushing her even closer to his body. He wanted to savor this moment of peace. She reciprocated the embrace, her arms coiling around his neck.

_Please,_ he thought to himself, _please let us have more time for these moments._

They repositioned themselves so that Julian’s full body could fit on the bed. Still, the apprentice practically lay on top of him. She felt so small against his large, lanky body, and it only made his protective instincts flare brighter. He would be ruined if anything happened to her because of him. It was a cruel damned-if-he-did scenario. He wanted to be here, with her, basking in her light. But he also wanted her happiness and safety. Damn his selfishness. He looked at the ceiling, absentmindedly combing his fingers through her long locks as he thought. He deduced that he could lay there for days and have almost no regrets.

“Why are you so obsessed with flowers?” she eventually asked, her voice groggy. He breathed out a laugh and grinned.

“Well, doctors do a lot of reading, you know. A lot of plants have medicinal properties, so they’re a common topic of study. But one day, I stumbled across a book on floriography, and the concept of them taking on meaning, like a secret language, was intriguing to me.”

“Ah, so you’re a hopeless romantic somewhere in there,” she teased. He felt heat rise to his face in embarrassment. 

“No, it was specifically research. Intrigue. Nothing I studied at length.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she chirped as she drew circles on his mostly exposed chest with her fingertip. “You didn’t have the book on you at the time of crafting my bouquet, yet everything seemed to match something you’d say. I assumed you were correct with it. Also, you knew what my flowers meant without any reference…and you knew about buttercups.” 

He snorted, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I hardly see how knowing about buttercups makes me a floriography expert.” She shot him an unamused look, to which he shrugged, the smile never falling from his face. “I memorize things easily. It comes with the territory of being a doctor. Makes the job a lot simpler.” That answer seemed like enough, as the apprentice hummed out a clipped sound in reply.

“That’s a rather convincing story. You’ve got a pretty silver tongue, Doctor,” she mumbled, sounding more and more distant with every response. “Still think you’re a bit of a romantic at heart, though.”

He clenched his jaw, the embarrassed flush not fading.

“Pursuit of bodily pleasures is hardly romantic,” he defended dubiously. She turned her face to look at him, her eyes showing that she wasn’t taking the bait at all. He looked away, curling into himself a bit in mortification, which only made him squeeze her tighter. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing his response as a whisper into her ear. 

“Only for you, my dear, do I have a soft, romantic side.” He kissed her temple, a small grumbled “happy?” following after. She blushed, a smile creeping onto her lips as she nodded, nothing but pure love and adoration reflected in those eyes. He sucked in a breath sharply, sure that his entire face was pink by now. Her giggle only confirmed that hunch. He stole a quick kiss, unable to fight her irresistible pull on him. It wasn’t his fault she never played fair.

Soon, her breathing became deep and even, and he stole a glance down at her to confirm his suspicions. She had fallen asleep on his chest, the constant motion of his hand through her hair lulling her. He frowned at himself, unable to enjoy the sentiment through the crushing weight of guilt on his heart. Of course she would be tired. She’d wasted so much time in the past two days concocting a plan that wasn’t even guaranteed to work, fighting past her very palpable anxiety and concern for him. He didn’t deserve this happiness. She was so good, and he didn’t know why she had been drawn to him.

A creak of the door made Julian’s pulse race, a protective arm snaking around the sleeping apprentice’s waist while he watched the curtain carefully.

“Ilya, I know you’re in there. My flowers are a mess again,” Mazelinka’s voice came from the hearth. He opened his mouth to reply, but then looked down at the sleeping beauty on top of him, and closed his mouth again, clenching his jaw. “Ilya! Are you finally sleeping?” she grouched, pulling the curtain back and shooting a glare into the room. Julian gave her a sheepish look as she took in their somewhat compromising position. She then looked to the floor, where the bouquet had fallen. A knowing smile crept onto her lips. 

“Clever girl,” she noted, to which Julian smiled, pulling his fingers gently through her hair. “Told you that you wouldn’t survive that long without her,” she teased as she let the curtain fall back into place. Julian once again opened his mouth to protest, a small blush painting his cheekbones, but once again he closed his mouth without a word.

“Believe in her, Ilya. She wouldn’t have sought you out if you meant nothing to her,” Mazelinka spoke like a softly scolding mother, the tap of a wooden spoon against an iron cauldron punctuating her statement.

“I know,” he whispered with a smile, letting his head fall back as his arms coiled loosely around her. Her warmth was a welcome sedative, and he couldn't help but fall into sleep as well. Just like their previous evening together, everything that she was would ward off the nightmares that plagued him, which was more than welcome.


End file.
